


Caves

by TheWordAlchemist



Series: World's Finest [3]
Category: DC Animated Universe, Justice League & Justice League Unlimited (Cartoons)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, argument
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-30
Updated: 2013-11-30
Packaged: 2018-01-03 01:44:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1064222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWordAlchemist/pseuds/TheWordAlchemist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time they quarelled</p>
            </blockquote>





	Caves

I remember the first time we quarrelled. 

It was winter, and it was night and I sat and waited for him to get back. This wasn't unusual. I used to spend winter nights in my home-away-from-home, the closest thing Kal-El had to a home. But I got lonely up there, with the ice and wind and memories that weren't really mine, so when Bruce suggested I spend some evenings in the Manor. Well, I leapt at the chance. He smiled then. One of the small, barely there smiles that I knew was entirely genuine. But I digress.

At this point, we had been known one another for nearly 2 years but I had never been in the cave alone. I had been behind the Bat-puter (Dick had, apparently, lacked creativity when he was young. I don’t believe that. I just think he'd always had an obvious sense of humour. But I digress again) once or twice, when we worked a particularly difficult mission together, but the cave was vast and I was curious. Too curious. 

It was late, and I was bored. There was nothing much on TV (or was I too restless to appreciate what was on?) and Alfred was busy repairing something or other to keep me company. I tried the library, but found nothing much worth reading. Bruce had so many old tomes, so many classics, but not much recent fiction. It didn't surprise me that he didn’t have any crime novels; he'd always found my love for them silly, almost quaint. He couldn't understand that, growing up in a tiny town in the middle of nowhere, crime novels based in not-so-shining Metropolis or seedy Gotham were the most perfect escapism. But that's not the point. The point is, I was bored. And I was curious. And, most importantly I was sick of secrets. My whole life had been secrets and I just wanted to be able to do away with them. So, I rose from the too-soft chair and wandered about the Manor until I found it. The clock. I stood in front of it and tried to remember how to open it. Bruce had been so cagey about it, hadn't allowed me to watch. But I had listened. There was a click, a tick and the sound of brass against glass.

I was so absorbed in fiddling with it that I didn't hear him until the clock swung open. He had a cut above his eye and he walked stiffly. His rib was fractured. He looked pained. And angry, He was so very angry. He closed the clock and his voice was scarcely above a whisper. "How dare you?" I could only stare blankly, my mouth opening and closing numbly. He repeated the question, a little louder this time. "Bruce, I was just –"   
"Betraying my trust? Invading my privacy?" His voice was raised, and I saw him wince. His ribs. I looked more closely and they had been broken several times, never allowed to truly heal. I knew he was angry but I couldn't say nothing. "Bruce, please. Your ribs. Take some time off, allow yourself to heal. You aren't invulnerable."  
"And you aren't omnipotent! I welcome you into my home, and all I asked for is time. You live forever but you can't manage to wait a few measly months for me to trust you? And now, now that you were so ready to trample all over that, you want to be concerned." He was right. I was so caught up in what I thought a relationship should be, I wasn't ready to let him be. "How many people has the Super Man trampled over, I wonder? When you crash through cities, how many?" He was almost whispering, and I saw the look of triumph when he saw my pain. No. I was not so wrong. I buried Kent for a moment (how many times have I done that?), and drew up to my full height. "And how many children has the Bat killed? Kids who wanted to be Robin so badly they tried to fight a purse snatcher to catch the Dark Knight's attention? How many grieving parents are there, Bruce?" My words stuck. He retreated into himself, 'Put on the invisible cowl' as Alfred put it. He didn't need to say it. I turned away and left.

He had his cave, I had my fortress. Diana had dubbed it the Fortress of Solitude. She'd been joking, but the name fit. Bruce had been here. We spent a sunless New Year here just weeks before. I walked in between the artefacts and trinkets I'd collected over the years. Alfred had called the Cave was a museum; I liked to think of my Fortress as a tribute. There were memories, so many memories, but they weren't sad. Not for Clark, not for Superman. But Kal wants to weep. I sigh, and pick up a copy of the Daily Planet. It contained the first article I ever wrote for the Planet. I cringed; it was dramatic, bordering on the sensational. I smiled; Bruce liked my writing. Of course, he never said so. But he made a point of always having a copy of the Planet, open at my article of the day on the desk in his study. My smile faded. I was wrong to enter the Cave, but not that wrong. He let children in on a whim. Catwoman had been in there for Pete's sake. There was no way he cared for her more than he did me. Right? 

I sat, hugging my knees like a child. I sulked like and child and I longed for Mum like a child. In many ways, compared to Bruce, I was a child. He had been so old for so long. So he needed to keep some secrets from me? But he didn't need to say that. He didn't need to stab at my sorest spot. He was a small, bitter man, who just hurt and hurt as he saw fit.

The following day – at least, I think it was the following day; the sun hadn't risen – Diana came to visit me. She flew in and stood in front of me as I sat reading an old copy of Nancy Drew. Even I knew these detective stories were a complete farce. "Apologise." No 'hello', no 'how are you, Clark', just a demand. "No. Not until he does." I winced, realising how childish I sounded. She lay a hand on my shoulder and crouched. "You know you need to apologise. You messed up Clark, more than you realise." I knew she was right, the anger and hurt plain on Bruce's face when he first realised what I was doing told me she was right, but Bruce wasn’t the only proud person in the world. "No. I was just trying to get closer to him. He had no right to say the things he did. He had no right." Diana looked at me and smiled. She knew I was being a proud fool and she pressed her lips against my forehead. In that moment I realised how much older she was than me. "He's resting. He hasn't left his bed for anything other than a shower. Dick and Tim are handling Gotham until his ribs heal." My breath caught in my throat and I started to cry. Well, not cry exactly. A few tears threatened to escape my eyes and there was a lump in my throat, but that's close enough to crying. Diana and I left for the manor.

As promised, Bruce was in bed when I came to see him. He was reading the newspaper and there was a copy of Dumb Witness on the dresser. Diana gently pushed me into the room and made herself scarce. "Hello Bruce, how are you feeling?" He put down a mug of coffee and folded his newspaper carefully into his lap. He was choosing his words very carefully. "I am feeling restless, and irritated and guilty. I –" the pause was not long, but it was there. "Am sorry I said those things. I should not have." I sat in the chair at his beside and took his hand. "I am sorry Bruce. I shouldn't have pushed you further than you were willing to go." He placed his forehead against mine and smiled. It was barely there, but it was enough.


End file.
